Cold darkness grew flapping wings in the pale sky,
violet velvet, black fear and poisoned Moon
came, gigantic birds flew with a whistling cry,
souls of evil played on a grim bassoon
and, when completed, (freezing water and trembling trees)
in ebony pyramids, tall cathedrals, in rusty cubes
mummies of pharaohs, skulls of kings, generals’ teeth
gave orders to kill Hope, to marshal troops.
Bells laboured, tireless, drunk, tossed,
people with dog heads came and forced
violent spirits to re-emerge from the secret books.
Then Hope, small and helpless, was truly lost,
never to be returned to the world of crooks.
Lost Hope
© Copyright: Борис Старосельский, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103022400031
Свидетельство о публикации №103022400031
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